Forgive and Forget
by A-very-supernatural-fan
Summary: Tag to 14x14. The aftermath of the showdown in the bunker. Contains spoilers. Hurt!Dean, sad!Sam.


**FORGIVE AND FORGET**

.

**Summary:**

Tag to 14x14. The aftermath of the showdown in the bunker. Contains spoilers.

Hurt!Dean, sad!Sam.

.

**Author's note:  
**I've written this because I'm a sucker for a little hurt/comfort and can never get enough of the lovely broments between Dean and Sam. I wanted this story to be done before the following episode aired but alas it didn't happen in time!

Oh btw, I've reached a milestone; story #50! I know it's been a long time coming, but I still feel immensely proud of myself for this achievement.

\- Elisa

.

**_ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ **

**.**

"_Guilt isn't always a rational thing… Guilt is a weight that will crush you whether you deserve it or not._"

\- Maureen Johnson, "_Girl at Sea_"

.

**_ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ **

**.**

The whiskey left behind a burning sensation in his throat and a bitter taste on his tongue. Dean appreciated the soothing effect the strong liquid, combined with the painkillers he'd washed down with it, had on his pounding head. A pounding that, Dean was relieved to acknowledge, had everything to do with his newly acquired head injury, and no longer anything to do with the archangel he'd fought so hard to keep locked inside his mind.

Dean put down the bottle of Jack on the concrete floor and leaned back against the side of his bed with a heavy sigh. The coldness of the floor had begun to seep through the back of his jeans, and one of his butt-cheeks had turned numb. Dean couldn't bring himself to care though. He closed his eyes, aching head resting on the edge of the soft memory foam mattress.

Michael was gone. Dean could barely believe it. The psycho archangel, who had followed them back from that apocalyptic version of their world, was finally gone – although his arrival and departure hadn't come without a price. Dean would never regret his decision to say yes to Michael to save his brother from Lucifer, but he did feel guilty about his role in all the bad things Michael had done while wearing his face.

All the havoc Michael had caused.

All the lives he'd taken - including the lives of Maggie and the handful of hunters who'd entered this world through the rift. Dean swallowed down bile when he recalled the sight of those empty eye sockets and the smell of burned flesh that went along with it.

And then there was the big elephant in the room; Jack. How much of Jack's soul was left, if any of it? How much of it did he burn off when he expelled Michael from Rowena's body and killed the son of a bitch? Jack had his powers back, which he'd declared with an impressive display of his restored wings, but how much of his humanity was still in there? Had they gotten rid of one insane archangel, only to release an even more powerful being on this world - even one they considered family? Dean's concussed head pounded more intensely with all the unanswered questions spinning in his head, so he decided to let the matter go for now. They could worry about Jack in the morning. Right now, Dean needed rest.

With an immense effort, Dean forced his heavy legs to cooperate – got up, and then collapsed on top of the covers of his bed, face first. Ever since he had locked Michael away inside his mind, Dean had barely been sleeping, and he was looking forward to finally crash without worrying about keeping his guards up. He was beyond exhausted, so sleep should come easily…

But it didn't.

Dean moved around a bit, hoping the change of position would persuade his aching body to relax and let sleep claim him. But no matter how much he tossed and turned, the rest he so desperately needed just wouldn't come. With a groan, Dean turned onto his back and blinked, eyes burning with fatigue. His gaze dwelled on a lightning bolt shaped crack in the grey ceiling, while his thoughts settled on his brother.

"_I told you! I told you to let me take that coffin ride to the bottom of the ocean!"_

Dean grimaced as he recalled the look on Sam's face when he'd shouted the harsh words at him. The possible repercussions of Michael being on the loose had ignited Dean's fear and, as his fear often masked itself as anger, Dean had taken it out on his brother. His words hadn't been fair though. Sam's desperate pleas to keep Dean out of that box had indeed been what made him change his decision, but what happened with Michael wasn't Sam's fault. Not at all.

Things hadn't gotten any better when their mom suddenly showed up at the bunker, just moments after Cas led Jack away and Rowena had taken off. Dean had been sitting on the concrete steps between the library and the map room. With an ice bag pressed to his throbbing head, he'd watched his brother swaddle the dead bodies in sheets when the unmistaken sound of the front door opening caught Dean's attention.

To say Mary Winchester had been shocked by the sight that met her, when the squeaky door closed behind her and she'd halted on the top landing, would have been an understatement. Their mom had abruptly frozen, wide eyes staring down at the dead people spread haphazardly out on the floor like flies in a windowsill.

"What happened?" Mary had gasped and sprinted down the stairs, iron steps clanking loudly in the otherwise quiet room.

Pushing Sam out of her way, she'd knelt next to Maggie's corpse - a breath of air leaving her lips as she spotted the young girl's burned eyes. Mary had covered her mouth with a shaking hand, and her gaze travelled over the other bodies before settling on Dean and Sam.

"What _happened_?" She'd repeated, this time with a trace of anger and sorrow in her voice.

"Mom, listen. I-it was Michael. He…" Sam had begun to explain.

"Michael?" Mary interrupted with wide eyes and turned to Dean. "I thought he was stuck inside your head?"

"He got out." Was all Dean replied. _And thanks for asking about us, Mom. We're fine. _

His mom continued to speak to him (Dean could tell from the way her lips moved) but he barely heard a word. At this point, he'd felt completely numb. Exhaustion taking over every inch of his body, Dean had only silently watched as their mom finally gave up on him and went off at Sam instead.

"_How could this happen?" _

"_Oh my God, what am I gonna tell Bobby?"_

"_Sam, tell me you did everything you could to save them!"_

_"This wasn't your fault... right?"_

Dean had zoned out a little and only caught bits and pieces of the conversation, but he'd seen how Sam flinched, as if the words had physically hit him. He'd seen the resigned and guilty look on Sam's face, had known how his brother had taken everything to heart – even though he wasn't to blame for any of it. Dean also knew that their mom's words weren't just directed at Sam, but at them both. However, Dean hadn't been able to deal with any of it. He was just too tired.

Dean had gotten up from the steps, turned his back on Sam and their mom, and had walked away. He'd only shortly detoured by the kitchen to pick up the bottle of whiskey, before disappearing into his room.

He was now beginning to regret that decision.

The broken look on Sam's face kept haunting him. When Sam was in a certain state of mind, Dean never knew what the kid might do. Feeling a sudden urge to see Sam instantly, Dean ignored his tired and sore body and left his room to go find his little brother.

.

**_ SPN _ **

.

"Saaam? Sammy?"

Dean returned to the empty library and scanned the room for his brother. Having searched through what felt like every square feet of the bunker, Dean had hoped Sam would have magically appeared in the big room which had been the first place Dean had looked after leaving his room. But there was no little brother seated by one of the wooden tables, no Sam with his nose in a book, sending Dean an annoyed look for interrupting something geeky he was reading. Even their mother seemed to have disappeared. Dean slammed his palm down hard on a table, frustration and worry quickly extinguishing his tiredness.

"Damn it, Sammy. Where _are_ you?"

Tip of his fingers trailing lightly over the carved initials of _D.W._ and _S.W._ in the wooden surface, Dean cast a look into the adjoining room. There was still a distant smell of burned flesh in the air and a pool of blood on the map table.

_It's gonna be a bitch to get the blood off that damn thing…_

Dean abruptly froze as things suddenly clicked in place inside his head, like two matching pieces of a puzzle. Dean could have punched himself for not noticing sooner but decided to blame it all on his concussion.

The bodies were gone.

Maggie and the others - they were _gone_, which meant that Sam was most likely outside somewhere, making funeral pyres for their deceased allies. Dean picked up his jacket, quickly drew his hands through the sleeves and shrugged it onto his shoulders. He then walked up the stairs with heavy steps and went outside.

It was late. The sun had begun to set in the horizon and would soon take the last bit of warmth of the day with it. Threatening, dark clouds hung low on the colored sky. Dean predicted they would bring a heavy amount of rain which was a perfect match to his current mood. It was already drizzling.

A column of smoke in the distance, and a strong smell of burning firewood, caught Dean's attention and he steered in the direction of it. Passing by a row of maple trees, Dean spotted the big, burning pyre with bodies on top. Not far from it, sitting on the wet ground with his back against a large tree trunk, Dean found his brother.

Sam's arms were resting on his bend knees. His head hung, eyes hidden from Dean's view behind curly bangs that already looked soaking wet. The mother hen in Dean worried his brother would get sick if he kept sitting on the cold, wet ground, but he was glad to see Sam had at least been smart enough to wear a jacket.

"This seat taken?" Dean asked and sat down next to his brother without waiting for permission.

Sam peeked at him shortly, giving Dean a brief look at red-rimmed eyes on a face so sad that it felt like someone had stuck a hand inside Dean's chest and clenched his heart.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Sam asked in a raspy voice.

"Probably. Where's Mom?"

The grimace Sam made as Dean mentioned their mom, didn't escape his attention.

"She took off. Right after…" Sam didn't finish his sentence but gestured towards the pyre.

"She took off?" Dean huffed with a shake of his head.

"Yup."

_Thanks Mom. Real classic. _

Dean's gaze rested on the funeral pyre. Flames had almost completely devoured the bodies by now, and lit up the surroundings in a palette of yellow, orange and red. The fire was reflected in the surface of the puddles of water the rain had created. Big drops of rain suddenly replaced the drizzling and disturbed the image in the puddles, the heavy rain drumming rhythmically as it hit the ground.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean exclaimed, trying to but failing to shield his face from the pouring rain.

He got back on his feet – then turned to his brother and frowned when he noticed Sam hadn't moved from the ground.

"Sam! Come on." Dean grasped Sam's jacket and pulled his reluctant brother to his feet.

Once upright, Sam finally seemed to get with the program, and they made a run for the entrance of the bunker. They almost slipped on the muddy ground several times, but luckily didn't fall and made it to the metal door quickly before getting inside.

Sam closed the creaky door behind them, and they both stopped to catch their breaths for a few seconds.

"Come on." Dean steered his uncharacteristically quiet brother down the stairs.

When they'd gotten all the way down, Sam stopped up in front of the map table and stared at the blood. He locked his jaw and pressed his lips into a thin line, wet eyes blinking rapidly. Drops of rainwater dripped from the ends of Sam's floppy hair as Dean gently pushed him away from the table and led his brother to the kitchen instead.

"Sit down." Dean ordered, pushing Sam into a chair. He then opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a couple of big, white towels that were surprisingly soft considering their age. "You're gonna get sick, you moron."

Dean unfolded one of the towels and draped it over Sam's head, giving it a few rubs before Sam swatted his hands away. Sam pulled the towel off his head and used it to dap at his face and neck instead, and Dean barely hid a smile at the sight of his brother's messy hair.

Dean used the other towel to dry his own face and hair – then grabbed the electric kettle, filled it with water and put it back on the bottom before pushing the on-button. While the water slowly began to heat up, he found a mug and put in one of Sam's disgustingly healthy tea bags. Then Dean waited a few seconds for the water to boil before pouring it into the mug.

Sam, who'd been staring quietly at the table while Dean made tea, jumped a little when Dean put down the mug in front of him with a loud clank.

"Thanks." He muttered, sending Dean a grateful look before grasping the warm mug with both hands.

"Listen, Sammy…" Dean sat down opposite his brother and made sure he had Sam's full attention before continuing. "It's not your fault. What happened to Maggie and the others, it's not on you."

Sam shook his head. "Don't say that."

"Why? _Michael_ was the one who killed them, and there was nothing you or anyone else could have done to stop it from happening."

"No Dean, it was my fault." Sam protested. "You said so yourself; I'm to blame for Michael getting loose. I talked you out of getting into that coffin."

"Sam…" Dean started, but Sam cut him off.

"Dean, I don't regret it, okay? Not for one second. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I'd let you condemn yourself to an eternity of torture on the bottom of the damn ocean! I just… I couldn't do it." Sam's lips trembled slightly, and he took a shaky breath. "And I'm okay with that. I am. But everything Michael did tonight, that's on me."

"No, it isn't." Dean disagreed, and quickly put up a hand to stop Sam from interrupting. "You wanna blame someone? Then blame me. I was the one who let my guards down so Michael escaped."

"You didn't have a choice, Dean. You got knocked out."

"I know." Dean sighed heavily. "So maybe... maybe it's time we stopped blaming ourselves for things that's out of our control. Hell if anything, let's blame it on bad luck."

"On bad luck? Seriously?" Sam shot Dean a weird look.

"Why not?" Dean asked.

While Sam seemed to contemplate his words, Dean rubbed at his tired eyes and failed to stop a yawn.

"Dean, you should get some rest." Sam said in a soft voice, concerned look on his face.

"Yeah… Yeah, I probably should." Dean agreed, which didn't make his brother look less concerned.

Exhausted, Dean pushed himself to his feet. "But this conversation is not over until you stop feeling guilty for things that aren't in your control, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear." Sam sighed. "How's your head? You need anything?"

"Already took some painkillers. I just need some sleep, that's all."

"Alright, if you say so."

"Finish your tea, princess."

"Just go to sleep, you jerk." Sam said, small smile playing on his lips – the first one Dean had seen all night.

"You too, bitch. G'night."

"G'night," came the soft reply as Dean left the kitchen and headed to his room on wobbly legs.

Things were far from alright. Michael was gone, but in his wake good people had died, Jack had burnt off most (if not all) of his soul, their mom had left them again, Sam blamed it all on himself, and Dean… Dean just needed sleep.

However, despite it all, Dean was glad he still had his brother by his side and wasn't currently in a box on the bottom of the pacific, going crazy. He guessed it was the little things that mattered. And sometimes, you just needed to forgive and forget.

.

**_ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _ SPN _**

.

**THE END**


End file.
